Dream or Reality?
by xXDeclare-GamuzaXx
Summary: Nelliel wakes up in her old room in Las Noches. Everything seems untouched. But how did she get there? What does this mean? - the start of a NnoiNel story I'm working on. content rating will change.


A green haired arrancar's eyes snapped open suddenly, and she sat up in bed. "Ngh, where am I?" She mumbled sleepily, looking around the room. Could it be—was she in her old Espada quarters? The king-sized bed absolutely swallowed the former Espada's slender body, and she sighed at the memories this room held. The stark, white washed walls assaulted her eyes, and she remembered how much she hated this place. She had never spent much time in this room, only stopping between her meals, meetings, and training sessions to pick up or deposit a good book.

She yawned, stretching her arms over her head and moaning softly. Nelliel lifted her hand to her skull mask on a whim, searching for the crack and the missing teeth. The crack had been healed shut, and the teeth had returned. "What in the world…" She murmured, detecting a trace of Orihime's reiatsu. "Why can't I remember what happened?" She mused aloud, frowned as she pulled herself out of bed. She looked down at her garb, finding she was dressed in the sleeping attire she had always worn as an Espada. Long, white, loose pants and a somewhat tight fitting shirt.

With a sigh, the arrancar moved through the room, reminiscing of all the times Nnoitra had tried and failed to enter her room, all of the times Dondochakka and Pesche curled up on her bed in fright, of all the times she locked herself away in silence, wishing away the battles of the day.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, banishing the memories from her mind the best she could. She made her way to her bathroom, closing the door behind her with a gentle click. It seemed untouched, as if they had kept this room waiting for her return. Even the brush she had used on the day of her exile lay turned up on the counter, stray green hairs stuck to the bristles. Her eyes widened as she looked at herself in the mirror, and she studied her face critically. She looked refreshed, and her eyes were still the same hazel, her hair the same green, her pink birthmark still present.

Was it possible they had sealed her room off in hopes of her return? Why hadn't the new third espada taken it over? She frowned thoughtfully at her reflection, deciding to treat this like an ordinary day. She slid out of her clothes, running herself a warm shower. She washed quickly, anxious to be clean and to find out if anything else had changed. She wanted to go find a training room, to go out to the desert and immerse herself in one of her favorite books—anything but to remain in this stifling reminder of all things past. Even a conversation with Nnoitra would suffice.

But he was dead, wasn't he? A sudden emotion took hold of her, and she clutched the wall, her head flooded with thoughts. If he really had died, there would be no more following him all across Las Noches and Hueco Mundo, no more reminding him that he was weak, and no one to remind her that she was hollow, and nothing more. She groaned, forcing herself to think of brighter thoughts, forcing herself to rinse off. She shut the water off and stepped out, wrapping her head and body in towels and walking back to her room.

She opened the closet, finding the row of familiar Espada uniforms, immaculate and waiting for her to put one on. She did so hastily, not even waiting for her hair to dry before leaving the room. The heavy white towels lay on the carpeted floor, but she ignored it, rushing through the halls, searching for signs of life. But she could find no one, it seemed as though everyone was in their respective rooms or—worse—gone. Was this all a horrible dream? Had she died and gone to a place of torture? She didn't want to be alone—she could feel spiritual presences everywhere but no one was around.

She quelled her panic, deciding to find one of the common areas and read for a while. It would certainly take her mind off of these strange events—at least until someone decided to help her understand what had happened to her. She sat in a plush, white chair, immersing herself in her book and forgetting the rest of the world.


End file.
